


Aftermath

by Fyre



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 12:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2812205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once you've been in combat, going back for more is hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> I'd been meaning to write a Sam fic for ages, and suddenly, this one hit me, so finally got some Sam down :) Only a short character study, but still.

Steve had made his speeches.

Natasha had been stitched back together.

They’d both gone off somewhere. God only knew where in this place. He didn’t know if they were together or alone. Either way, they didn’t want him there with them. Steve especially. He had a hell of a lot going on.

Sam slumped down at the table, head in his hands. 

He’d almost forgotten the rush of being in combat, and the crash that always came after. He’d barely even had his wings on. It was the gunfight. The smoke. The fire. The explosions. Steve being blasted over the side of the bridge like he was nothing. 

He remembered it too well from the last time.

A bowl rattled on the table.

Sam looked up.

The other woman - Agent Hill, Steve had said - was standing there. She’d set down a bowl of some kind of regulation mulch and pushed it closer to him.

“You look like you could use it,” she said.

He sat up a little straighter. “Thanks,” he said. She nodded curtly, and was about to turn away, and Sam realised the last thing he needed was to sit in a cold, dark bunker with no one else around. It’d give him too much time to think, and he didn’t need that right now, not when Steve needed him sharp. “You got a minute?”

Her brow creased, and she glanced back, then shrugged. “Sure,” she said, sitting down on one of the vacant chairs.

He stirred the mulch, then breathed out. “Sorry,” he said. “I mean, if I’m keeping you from something.”

Hill’s mouth turned up briefly at one side. “I can spare five minutes,” she said. “The last couple of days haven’t exactly given me time for that.”

“Nothing to do now?”

“Nothing but wait,” she replied, leaning back in the seat. He recognised the stance, a soldier at ease. Maybe she was a SHIELD agent, but she was someone who had been in the field before and knew to take a respite when she got the change.

He chewed down the food, grimacing. “You know,” he said, “they tell you you’ll forget how bad military rations were with time. They’re right. This tastes like shit.” He took another mouthful. “Mm. Just like momma used to make.”

To his surprise, Hill cracked a smile. “You insulting my cooking, Wilson?”

“Your skill with a tin opener?” he said. “Hell yes.”

They shared another brief, tired smile. 

“If you’re looking for Steve,” she said, as he worked on through the bowl, “I saw him head outside.”

Sam looked in the direction of the door. “We safe this far out?”

Hill nodded. “We should be,” she said. “He wanted some air, and I figured it was easier not to stand in the way. Look on his face said he could have walked through a brick wall if he wanted to get there.”

Sam winced. “You heard him in the van, right?”

“Barnes,” she confirmed. “Yeah.”

He finished the bowl, pushing it back towards her. “You know anything about it?”

She shook her head. “Even Fury hadn’t,” she said.

“And you believe everything he tells you?”

“I believe enough,” she replied, getting up. “You sure you want to be in on this, Wilson. It isn’t your fight.”

Sam rose. “You came for Fury,” he said. “I came for Steve.”

She met his eyes, nodded, and held out a hand. “Good to work with you, Wilson.”

“Sam,” he replied, clasping her hand briefly. 

Her smile returned, quick as lightning. “Maria,” she replied. “If you want to find him, second sets of stairs on the left. Keep going up.”

He nodded, and headed in that direction.

 

_____________________________________________

 

For once, they were staying somewhere with a bed. 

Most of the time, they ended up crashing on the street like hobos, following one nearly-cold trail after another. Sleeping rough was easy for them. They’d both done it before. It was like being back in the zone, waking sharply, being on the move in no time.

They both slept light, Sam noticed. Combat-vets, too recently for both of them to forget that a nearby crash could mean life or death.

Four walls and a roof should have made things easier. 

Hell, a bed was a luxury.

It was like coming home all over again.

While Steve was out, chasing down another lead, he tried to get some rest.

He punched the pillow. He tossed and turned. He flipped the damn mattress. 

In the end, he dragged the sheets and covers down onto the floor and put his head down. It helped. The floor was hard and uneven, and for a second, he could close his eyes. Trouble was, he slept long enough for the dreams to come.

The sound of the door opening woke him, and he sat up sharply.

Steve was silhouetted in the frame. “Sorry,” he said quietly.

Sam, heart racing, tried to even out his breathing. “Hey, man. No problem.” He struggled to his feet. “I needed to hit the bathroom anyway.”

It was better to go in there, gather himself, than give Steve more to worry about. He closed the door, turned on the faucet, and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. 

He could almost feel Riley’s hand slipping through his. Nightmare had always been the same until he got back into the fight: catching and letting him slip. Only sometimes, it wasn’t Riley anymore. It was Steve on the carrier, and now, they were hunting the man who’d kicked him off, and left him in hospital with broken bones and blood and bullets riddling him. 

His hands were shaking as he ran them over his face.

It took him longer than he would have liked to stop them shaking, trying his breathing exercises, closing his eyes, even just counting slowly back from a hundred. There were so many things he’d tried, and no sure fire way to settle things when the nightmares hit.

By the time he shut the water off and stepped back out into the room, Steve had put the lights on and was sitting by the table.

“You okay?” he asked, looking up, concern all over his face.

“Could be better,” Sam admitted, sitting down at the other chair. “Any luck?”

Steve shook his head. “Thought we had a solid lead this time,” he said. “Turns out it was just another vet.” He gathered together some papers on the table and shook his head. “There’s too many of us out there.” 

“People looking?”

Steve shook his head again, stiffly. “Soldier. Vets.” He breathed in, then out. “They call on us, ask us to sacrifice everything, and when it’s all done, we come back and that’s what they do to us.” He looked up and met Sam’s eyes. “They didn’t ask for it, Sam.”

“No soldier ever does,” Sam murmured, reaching over and clasping Steve’s wrist.

It helped, he thought. Not just him, but Steve too. A reminder that he wasn’t alone in this, that they weren’t on the streets with nothing. It wasn’t much of a comfort, knowing his friend was out there somewhere, but it was something. 

 

_______________________________________________

 

The coffee house was busy and noisy.

Sam didn’t realise he wasn’t alone until someone swung down into the chair right in front of him.

“Hey,” Romanoff said.

It wasn’t hard to summon a smile for her. “Hey yourself,” he said. He raised his eyebrows. “Going with curls this season?”

Romanoff’s mouth curved. “You’re one of the first guys to notice,” she said. “That earns you points.”

He laughed, leaning back in his seat. “So what can I do for you? If you’re looking for Steve, I got no idea where he’s at.”

Romanoff shook her head. “We keep in contact,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

That surprised him.

“Sure, I guess,” he replied, stirring another sugar into his lukewarm coffee. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay, not so much, but I have a handle on it.” He watched her for a second. “How about you? Your world coming into some kind of order yet?”

She looked down at the table, and when she looked back at him, her expression was the most unguarded one he’d ever seen on her face. “I think that would be asking for the impossible,” she admitted. “My world’s never been my own before. This is all… kinda new.”

“In a good way?”

Her smile was quick and soft. “Getting there.” She tilted her head. “You been back to DC since everything happened?”

Sam shook his head. “Figured I’d stay away a while longer,” he said. “New York’s good for being anonymous, and I really don’t want anyone trying to take my wings back.”

Romanoff’s smile turned into something closer to a grin. “I think they have bigger things to worry about than that,” she said. She got up from the seat and circled the table, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. “You take care of yourself, Wilson. Not just of him.”

He looked up at her. “I do what I do,” he replied.

“And what he does,” she observed. “I know the type.” Her fingers brushed his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Be careful.”

He smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her blue eyes shone warmly. “See you around, soldier.”

He touched his fingers to his temple in playful salute, and watched her as she walked away.


End file.
